‘And?’
‘What?’ Lewis’s mouth moved to expand on his confusion, but nothing came out. His eyes were glazed with drink and shock. He closed them and cleared his throat, loudly, and then looked at Rhonda de Groot again and tried to appear determined and tough. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I don’t care. If you want the truth, I don’t give a shit. I’ve always hated him. But what the fuck do you think you’re going to do now?’
Rhonda let it out as a motherly sigh. ‘My main concern at the moment is you.’ She looked at Larissa over by the desk. ‘And your deceit.’
‘What do you want? An apology?’
‘Oh, if only an apology was all that was necessary, Lew,’ said Rhonda. ‘I just don’t know that I’ll ever be able to trust you again.’
‘Trust me? You’re a lunatic!’ He shook his head, looked at Larissa and then at Jack, as though for support. ‘Christ, I should have picked it the other day. In the middle of the fucking city, shooting a gun off in Susko’s bookshop!’ Lewis warmed up, indignant. He reached for his neck and loosened his already flaccid tie. ‘I kept you out of trouble and now you’ve got this midget pointing a fucking gun at me.’
Max adjusted the aim of his gun. ‘Need those nuts?’
‘I’ve been stressed, Lew,’ said Rhonda. ‘You know that.’
‘Yeah, I know it.’
Larissa said: ‘You killed Richard? Now, after all these years?’
Rhonda put her hands on her hips, stretched out her right leg and tapped her foot on the floor a couple of times as she slightly bent her left knee. She counted, softly: one, two, three … Then she stood and changed legs. ‘That was your fault, my dear. I was so angry when Richard opened the safe and there was nothing there. Plus the fact that I was already upset with Lewis here, going behind my back.’
‘How did you find out?’ snapped Lewis.
Max grinned. ‘Like following an elephant through a meadow.’
‘You little faggot.’
The gun moved up. Max glanced at Rhonda, his face grim, asking for permission. Jack tensed, sure he would get it.
‘That’s offensive, Lew,’ said Rhonda. ‘I’ve told you before.’
‘There’s nothing going on between me and Larissa.’ Lewis swore. ‘It’s just business.’
‘Everybody knows she’s a slut,’ said Rhonda. ‘I’m sure even Richard was —’
‘Christ, just listen! I couldn’t handle your moods anymore, all right? I wanted out, no more fucking de Groots in my life. You get it?’
‘You could have talked to me about it.’ Her sincerity was thin as fairy floss.
‘Oh come off it!’
‘You said you were going to help me. You promised. The Sergius, the money, a new life. What happened, Lew?’
Lewis looked at Rhonda de Groot with disgust, his eyes filled with hate. ‘Games. Just fucking games, that’s all. And that’s all finished now.’
‘You ungrateful fucking shit. I got you out of South Africa, I got Richard to take you on again after you got out of jail, and what do you go and do? Hook up with this little Australian slapper.’
Jack looked at Larissa: to his surprise, she appeared somewhat amused.
‘I’m not your lackey,’ said Lewis, venom hot in his voice. ‘You and your arrogant husband, think you can just tell me what to do?’ He made a sound as though he was about to spit. ‘Well, not anymore. Those days are over. He’s dead and I’m taking the cash and you can go to hell.’
Rhonda grinned, hands back on hips. ‘Unbelievable. Richard always said you were too stupid for anything.’
‘I’ve had about as much shit as I’m going to take from you.’ His voice wavered a little at the edges.
Rhonda ignored him and glanced around the gallery. ‘Where’s the money from Richard’s safe?’ Before anybody could answer, she saw the suitcases in the corner by the desk. ‘Ah, there we are. Good.’ She turned back to Lewis. ‘How much did you find in the end?’
The thick man hesitated. ‘Two hundred thousand.’
‘In the floor safe?’
‘And the one in the bedroom.’
Rhonda grinned. ‘Good old Richard.’
Lewis pointed his chin, raised a little bit of eyebrow. ‘So now what?’
‘Now?’ replied Rhonda, as though she was confused by what he had said. ‘Now nothing, Lew.’
She reached for the gun in Max’s hand, pointed it at Lewis and before he or anybody else knew what the hell was going on, she fired. Once. Twice. Thrice. The rain pummelling the gallery windows drowned out some of the noise, but it was still very loud. Jack’s ears were ringing as the blonde muscle man took the bullets in his chest, where they thudded and buried themselves deep. He fell heavily into the sofa: his head snapped back and then instantly bounced forward off the cushioned velour, and then lifted up again, but not as far, and then fell and wobbled a little and finally rested on his chest. Dead.
‘Max,’ said Rhonda de Groot as she turned to face Larissa, pointing the gun. ‘Could you please get me a glass of water?’
~
31 ~
JACK HAD ALWAYS SUSPECTED that giving up smoking was going to be the death of him: but had he known it was actually going to be at the hands of a mad, gun-wielding, middle-aged South African gallery owner, he would never have quit.
Rhonda de Groot stood perfectly still, smooth blue smoke drifting around her, eyes locked on Larissa, the gun ready to speak again but holding its tongue for the moment.
The storm outside emptied over the city. Soon enough, everything would be washed and clean and sparkling anew beneath the soft sunrise, and the gentle morning would herald a forgiven day. Everywhere, except maybe at De Groot Galleries, Queen Street, Woollahra.
Jack glanced at the door without moving his head, wondered how Max was getting on in the kitchen. No sounds that he could hear — but then the rain was hitting everything hard and his ears were still ringing from the gun blasts. What the hell was Kablunak doing?
‘Champagne, Rhonda?’ said Larissa. Somehow, she managed to sound smug, as though she was holding the gun and not the other way around. She turned to the desk and picked up the bottle there, shaking it a little to see if there was anything left. ‘Might take the edge off, huh?’
‘You made him do it, didn’t you?’
‘Would that make you feel better, Rhonda?’
‘I know you did.’
‘He was a grown man.’
‘You made him do it.’
Larissa held the glass of champagne she had poured for Rhonda de Groot up and then placed it on the desk. ‘The problem with you, Rhonda, is that you think the world is how you’d like to see it. An affliction of the rich, I suspect. But reality just doesn’t work like that.’
‘Lewis was stupid and vulnerable. He hated Richard and you saw how you could use him. And now they’re both dead. Because of you.’
‘I think maybe that gun in your hand has got more to do with it, Rhonda.’
‘You slut. What did you promise him?’
Larissa poured herself some more champagne. She sipped. Then she looked up at Rhonda through her fringe of shiny brown hair. Her eyes were narrowed, lips pursed. ‘The opportunity to get the hell away from you. What else?’
Rhonda stretched her gun arm out a little further, shortened the distance between its barrel and Larissa’s body. Jack felt his heart pounding like an air compressor in his chest. He was close enough to tackle Rhonda, but the gun would go off before he could get hold of it.
‘Don’t look so shocked,’ said Larissa. ‘Why would he like you? What, just because you’re his sister?’
Jack looked at Rhonda de Groot in disbelief. ‘He’s your brother?’
‘That’s right,’ said Larissa. ‘Her own flesh and blood. I wonder what the Sergius would have to say about it? Straight down, bottom floor. The hot place.’
‘And you?’ snapped Rhonda, the gun trembling a little in her hand.
‘I’m in it for the money, sister. I have
n’t killed anybody for it and neither the money nor the Sergius belongs to anybody either.’ Larissa looked at Jack. ‘I might have tried to lead the odd person astray, but nobody complained, far as I can tell.’
‘You started all this. You came into my family and drove the wedge between us.’
‘Yeah, Rhonda. Simple as that. I’ve been planning it for years.’
‘You convinced Richard to steal the Sergius from Viktor, didn’t you?’
Larissa sighed.
‘Answer me!’
‘I didn’t even know about the fucking Sergius,’ she said, voice rising in volume.
‘No. It was you. He’d stopped all that. He told me.’
‘Well, he told me that it was going to be the easiest three million he had ever made. Plus the bonus of annoying Viktor Kablunak.’
Rhonda was staring into space now, eyes vacant as her mind shuffled the cards, but obviously a few were falling out of the pack. Jack swallowed. Braced. Locked his eyes on the gun.
‘And for the record,’ said Larissa, coolly topping up her glass again. ‘I’ve never been attracted to short-arse men.’
The gun in Rhonda’s hand recoiled: the sound was like a thousand Rottweilers barking in the same split second. The champagne glass in Larissa’s hand hit the floor. Jack shuddered as the force of the bullet split the air in the gallery, and the blast reverberated and bounced off the walls. More bitter gun smoke drifted into his nostrils and burned his eyes, and the thought of Larissa taking the bullet sifted in slow motion through his mind. He turned to look and was relieved to see she was still standing.
Larissa had cupped a hand over her left ear. Blood seeped out between her fingers and down her long smooth neck. And there was a funny look on her face, as though she was trying to remember what she had just been talking about.
Jack said: ‘Jesus, are you all right?’
She looked at her hand, then gently patted around her ear. Her eyes widened. ‘You shot my ear lobe off,’ she said, as though in a dream; shock was obviously still holding back the pain information from her brain.
Rhonda de Groot adjusted the gun slightly, not quite believing that Larissa was still on her feet. ‘You lucky little bitch.’
All of Jack’s senses were brimming, and then he knew the gun was going to go off again. In the moment it fired, Jack lunged with his shoulder and knocked Rhonda de Groot sideways. She screamed and swung the gun around. As they fell, she landed it, hard and clean, right on the side of his head, just above the ear. He groaned and tried to reach for her wrist. Hot sparks flashed through his skull. Fuck. After the last time, he knew he should have worn a goddamn helmet.
Rhonda yelled and flayed with the gun. ‘Get off me!’ She pulled the trigger and shot off another round. Jack flinched but did not feel any bullets hit. As he wrestled Rhonda onto her back, Pascal burst through the door.
‘What the fuck?’
He took in the scene and then ran over and grabbed the gun out of Rhonda’s hand. He dragged her away by the arm, a metre or two across the carpet.
‘Let go of me you son of a bitch!’
Over by the desk, Larissa started to laugh. Blood had spread down one side of her head and neck and into the collar of her pinstriped suit jacket. She laughed and her body shook. After a few seconds, she calmed down a little. Then she reached into her handbag on the desk and pulled out a travel-pack of tissues.
For a moment, it was all held breaths in the gallery. Then one long exhale. And the rain beat down and soothed the world and slowly drained the room of its drama.
~
32 ~
JACK LAY ON THE CARPET AND THEN ROLLED onto his back. Stared at the ceiling. Reached up and delicately felt the side of his head where Rhonda’s gun had kissed it. A smooth bump pulsed with pain. There were two bumps now. He decided to stay where he was for the moment and hoped everyone else would just go home.
Viktor Kablunak walked in. His hands were in his pockets: casual, relaxed. He looked around, nodded a couple of times, then angled his head down and stared at Jack on the floor. He grinned. ‘You have done well, Mr Susko,’ he said. ‘Only one dead body.’
‘Not enough for you?’
Kablunak cleared his throat. ‘Plenty.’
Jack closed his eyes. ‘You took your time, Viktor. What the hell were you waiting for? A phone call?’
‘Our friend Max is a tenacious little man.’
Pascal made a noise in his throat. ‘I’d rather stick a ferret down my pants.’
‘Yes. But he is secure now. And besides, I never interfere in domestic disputes, Mr Susko. They are … private affairs. This is one of the main problems in the world today, I believe.’ He looked up, squinted into the middle distance and sucked at his teeth. ‘I have many thoughts on this subject.’
‘Boss,’ said Pascal, holding Rhonda’s arm. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’
Kablunak nodded vaguely, then stared down at his shoes and took a few meandering steps. The windows of the gallery were thick with the fug of sweat and gun smoke and death.
‘The line between the private and the public domain has been … eroded,’ continued the Russian. ‘Political correctness has instilled a false morality in us, Mr Susko. But really, it is for small minds and the self-righteous, this P-C, as they call it. An excuse to stick their noses everywhere they should not. They cannot admit that what they find impossible to fathom is that their lives are not grand statements or world-changing examples of what is right or what should be. No no no …’ He wagged a finger. ‘They are … stupid people. Deep down they know that they are nothing, and will do nothing, and will die nothing. Better the old ways, Mr Susko. When one had a private life. The home, the family. Where a man could be king and a woman queen. Where no other laws could reign.’ The Russian smiled. He turned to Rhonda de Groot, standing defiantly beside Pascal. ‘Isn’t that right, Rhonnie?’
Richard de Groot’s widow scoffed, amused. ‘Still full of shit, Viktor,’ she said, her voice clipped and precise and all settled down now after the drama. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’
Kablunak’s face darkened. He paused, held what he was about to say in his mouth for a moment. He walked over to a painting on the wall to his right, clasped his hands behind his back and inspected the picture. Then he said: ‘Shooting your brother dead, Rhonda. Why doesn’t that surprise me?’
‘And her husband.’ Jack had got up off the floor. Thunder cracked, hard and loud, like a mountain splitting in two. Lightning flashed in the fogged-up gallery window, blurred by the flooding sky. Outside, the world was black and pale grey, glimmering like an old movie reel that had been played a few too many times. Nothing was clear: inside or out.
‘So it was you,’ said Kablunak.
Rhonda reached up and brushed at her hair. ‘Go to hell, Viktor.’
The Russian gave her a sad look. ‘Dear Rhonda. What has become of you? And what will become of you now?’
‘All alone,’ added Larissa.
‘You little slut!’ she yelled suddenly, lunging towards Larissa. Her expression was set to if-looks-could-kill. Pascal held her back. ‘She made me kill my brother!’
Larissa dabbed at her ear with a bunch of tissues. ‘Lewis hated your guts,’ she said.
‘I raised him from the age of four!’
‘Well done. You should write a guide.’
Jack watched Rhonda’s face turn deep red: then, just as quickly, she reined in her anger and visibly calmed down. She stretched herself taller. ‘I know about you and Richard,’ she said, her tone full of pomp and something like pride.
‘What?’ replied Larissa, and grimaced, as though she had bitten something sour. ‘You’re delusional. Fucking men to get what you want, that’s your generation, Rhonda, not mine. We hardly need ’em at all these days.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Oh, come on!’ Larissa looked at Kablunak. ‘She needs her medication.’
‘Mr Kablunak?’ said Pascal with some urgency. He
nodded towards the door.
Viktor checked his watch. ‘Yes. We really must go.’ He looked up at Jack and gestured towards the hallway door. ‘Shall we?’
‘What do you want to do with these guys?’ Pascal sounded concerned.
‘Leave them. This is a family affair. Nothing to do with me.’ Kablunak narrowed his eyes at Larissa and pointed at the suitcases in the corner. ‘Is that Richard’s money?’
Larissa closed her eyes and nodded.
‘Good,’ said the Russian as he turned away. ‘Pascal. Bring the suitcases.’
‘You just going to let everybody go?’
‘I can be a sporting man at times, Pascal. The police will find everything they need to make their arrests.’ He grinned. ‘Or maybe Miss Tate and Mrs de Groot could team up for their escape? Give the police something to do?’
Larissa reached for the champagne bottle on the desk. She picked it up and took a swig. ‘Can I borrow some of the cash, Viktor?’
‘No.’
Jack was watching Larissa: there was something about the way she and Kablunak had spoken to one another. ‘Can I ask a question?’ he said.
‘Make it brief, Mr Susko.’
‘When your boys busted in last Friday. How’d you know the Sergius was here? In the safe?’
Viktor Kablunak raised his eyebrows a fraction. As though he was pleased. ‘Very good, Mr Susko.’
‘Same way you knew somebody would be here this morning, huh?’
The Russian smiled, amused now.
Rhonda de Groot leaned forward in Pascal’s grip. She was thinking, intently, not sure where to look. Then she knew, and scowled at Larissa Tate. ‘You,’ said the widow de Groot. ‘You did it!’
Larissa tossed her hair and then pushed out her bottom lip and sent a quick breath up into her fringe, which waved for a second and then fell down again, perfectly in place, straight and silken. ‘It’s a bitch-eat-bitch world, Rhonda,’ she said. ‘Haven’t you heard?’
Pascal’s confusion turned into an itch in his underarm. He scratched, absently using the gun, looking from Larissa to Kablunak and then back again, like he was following a tennis match. But he had no idea what the score was.
The Black Russian Page 17
